You weren't supposed to die! You have compassion, deep in your heart, for those that don't deserve it. You love even those who have harmed you. I finally learned to love you, and it's too late. But I promise you; your memory will not be forgotten—never.

Over
the years, I'd perfected my
I'd-kill-you-any-day-so-you'd-better-look-away-first glare, which I
now threw at anyone who looked my way.

They
especially stared at my new hair. Last night, I'd found an old pair
of scissors and hacked away. Uneven, jet black, boy length—add the
violet eyes and I'm terrifying, even if I'm only five foot one.

Someone
touched their own hair, then snickered at me. Another shielded their
child's eyes and hurried away. Others simply changed direction,
although I'm pretty sure someone started crying at the sight of me.

My
face was flawlessly blank, save for the glare that could kill. I was
here for only one reason, and that had nothing to do with these
people. I just needed to find that house, then I'd be on my way out
of here.

A
boy about two years older and a foot taller then me was poised, ready
for a fight. His eyes shot daggers and his voice dripped venom. "What
do you want here, murderer?"

I
smiled grimly at him. "What I want is no business of yours—leave
me be and I'll return the favor."

He
stepped forward, eyes burning into mine. "It would be much
appreciated if you'd leave now—that's not a request." He had
to be kidding me—ordering me
around? He rushed at me, and I
heard someone shout his name.

As he passed, I sidestepped and was
instantly behind him. I reached out and snatched one leg out from
under him, causing him to fall, stretching his arms out in front of
him. I yanked the leg up, forcing him to flip over, facing me. His
eyes were wide, frightened, as he looked at my face.

I smiled without glee and drew my back as
far as I could. This was it. Now I'd drive my fist hard into his
face. The force would shatter it; chards of bone would destroy his
brain, leaving him dead.

And yet now I hesitated. I didn't
understand this. I'd been trained to kill mercilessly, without the
slightest thought or cause. But now I was free of the chemicals
rendering me without a conscience. Still, what was this boy to me?
Within moments he could be just another name…and yet I couldn't
bring myself to harm him.

This made no sense. I had all the
necessary pieces in place. He'd threatened me, after all. I had the
proper training and positioning. But still I paused. Why? Why should
I care for this one boy, when I'd never cared for others before him,
even if I'd had much less of a reason? What was wrong with me?

Though…what if it was this new
awareness that came with the lack of drugs? What if my purpose wasn't
to kill, as I'd thought before? But, if not as an assassin, what was
it?

No. My sole purpose in life was to do
what I'd done my entire life. It was the only thing I knew how to do.
It was what I was best at. So why couldn't I do it now?

My eyes tore into the boy's face as if he
could answer my questions. What was wrong with me? Just do it, get it
over with, before you can convince yourself otherwise!

My fist, still poised midair, twitched
slightly from the tension of which I was holding it. He winced at the
movement, and sudden anger filled me for my hesitations. I drove my
fist toward him with severe force.

To my frustration, I stopped less than an
inch from his face. What was my problem? Why couldn't I just…My
thoughts stopped right there. His face…it was so, undeniably
terrified.

Every ounce of frustration, anger, or any
negative emotion towards this other person left me, completely. I
released him from my grasp, my furious glare melting into oblivion in
a matter of seconds.

I became aware of my surroundings; I
realized everyone had frozen. There was no sound, save for my almost
victim's breathing, ragged with fear. Our eyes were still locked on
each other's, both clearly astonished.

No one moved for several more seconds and
then everyone continued on their way in absolute silence. For many
more long minutes, our eyes stayed locked. Then I couldn't stand it
anymore and, turning, dashed away, leaving him standing there, still,
staring off after me.

My legs burning, I sprinted away from the
scene. No doubt it would be the talk of everyone tonight; the
murderer who didn't murder the boy.

I stopped breathing unconsciously. It
scared me so badly that I actually halted, forcing myself to breathe
in and out deeply a few times, before pushing forward again.

I went faster and faster until I could
barely feel my legs, and only when I felt almost ready to faint from
exertion did I allow myself to pause. I had made it to my destination
anyway, albeit very different than I remembered.

The exterior of the house used to be
white, if memory served. For a brief moment, I entertained the
thought that I'd come to the wrong house, or perhaps that it'd been
knocked down and this was a new house.

It had received a new paint job, to say
the least.

Violent purple coated the walls,
interrupted only by the yellow stains I assumed were eggs, and a few
strips of toilet paper.

The eggs were obviously identified by the
rancid smell pervading the air. I wrinkled my nose against it,
sneering. This was definitely the right place. I planted my hands on
my hips, my expression automatically fading to blankness.

I stomped towards the front door,
flinging it open. The eggs' smell got worse inside, but there were
other stenches too.

I scouted out the area, the entire upper
floor, saving the lower for later. Each room was worse than the
first—the three bedrooms, each bed smashed; the bathroom, the sink
and toilet lying, broken, on the floor—I wondered who's done it.
Had those men who'd come to get me and kill my mother done it? Had
the townspeople, angry at me, done it?

When I went downstairs, I saw the kitchen
in a similar state. The wooden table was in splinters, chairs had
broken legs or no legs at all. There was a knife protruding from the
wall, and suddenly I was hit with a distinctly familiar scent—blood.

I'd smelled this every day for the past
year. I should feel comfort, shouldn't I? That's how 'comfort'
worked. Then again, I'd never really felt it before…

There was an odd sensation in my stomach,
as if there was something on fire in there. My head felt lighter than
normal, and my nose tingled a bit at the smell. Was this what comfort
felt like? I didn't like it. Not one bit. But maybe comfort was
supposed to be something you didn't like. Thought that didn't make
sense…Why would it be a positive thing if no one liked it?

A breeze whipped through the house from
the open window hole—the windows themselves had been removed—and
the smell hit me again, snapping me out of my thoughts. I stood in
place, glancing around me, turning, until I found myself facing that
knife again. There, on the wall, written in blood, was a not
addressed to me. It said, quite pleasantly and in horrible, drunken
handwriting: Get the hell away
from the town.

What a welcome home.

I
wasn't sure how long I sat there. I didn't think of time passing. I
didn't think of the wounds and scars on my house.

My thoughts wandered over every nick and
crannie of my memory. Eventually I noticed I was sitting down, still
staring at that note, but my eyes were unfocused. Every thought,
every memory, I ran over in my mind.

I started at my earliest memory, combing
through till that
memory. But I never got past that. The incident, then there were only
pieces. Fragments of memory. Fragments of memories better left
untouched.

When I was a little girl, my mother and I
bought a new house. This one. I never knew why we'd left my father,
but my first memory was of us buying this house. Here we'd lived, for
a few years. When I turned ten, my mother and I assassinated out
Lord. She'd found out about some plan he'd had, and it didn't look
good for us. We'd been frightened, afraid to leave, so we'd killed
him.

They had, of course, found out about it.
And they were very angry. They stormed into my house, and there were…

So they'd killed her. They took me under
their wing, so to speak, and given me some sort of chemical, although
I was unsure of what it was. My memory was blurry here, but from what
I could sum up, I had killed everything in sight. Fine, that was
unfair—anything that got in my way.

I remembered my training—where to hit
to kill fastest, where it would be the most painful, require the
lease amount of force, the act of intimidation. How to easily get
information out of someone. Hours of constant work. Tedious exercise.
Ruthless exams. Countless tests.

All of them had thin film over them, as
if viewed through a foggy window. There were a few others, too, but
nothing of worth. During this time, I was the Grand Emperor's little
pet, his 'pride and joy'. But he didn't care about me, just what I
could do for him. Even through the foggy window, I could see that
clearly. It was more obvious than the color of the night sky.

What wasn't clear was why I'd stayed
there so long. Sure, I was strong and their 'weapon', but it was
clear that I wasn't ever worth wasting those drugs used to keep me
there in the first place, however powerful I was or made them.

I tipped my head back presently,
realizing it had gotten dark outside. I was done staring at those
words on my wall. I picked myself up, going out to the back yard. My
short hair tickled the back of my neck as I looked towards the sky.
It was clear, a solid, blue-black color that seemed to be that color
only to highlight and show off the key point—the stars.

There was no moon, but it was gorgeous.
The stars themselves had an almost bluish tint. Whenever I saw the
stars on a night like this, I felt some deep connection with
something very far away. And it was as if we shared some secret, a
deep, poetic, ages-old secret which had been kept safe for
generations, only to be spoken of at moments like this. The sky,
stars, moon—it was so far away, so wise, so uncorrupted by anything
we might screw up down here.

I sat down on the cool grass, leaning
back on my arms, propped up behind me, my eyes never leaving the sky,
having our quiet discussion, comfortable and understanding each
other.

The day came where I woke. It came like a
slap to the face. Everything jumped into sharp focus, as if I'd
stopped crossing my eyes. I was still taking in detail, even now,
almost thirty hours later. There were things that I just remembered,
like the wide, ever present sky. When all the world leaped into
focus, I remembered the land like it had been painted behind my
eyelids.

Immediately, I was drawn to this area.
It'd taken me twenty eight hours to run here, without stopping to
rest. All I'd seen was a mental picture of this property. My
property, technically, and I was going to take it back for keeps. It
did
belong to me, and no one would dare cross paths with me.

Proprietary issues aside, my own body was
foreign to me. During my hours of running, I felt nothing. No burn in
my legs, no shortness of breath from the excursion at first. It was
as if my body and mind were two separate units, and working them
together was impossible. The problem was, either I explored my almost
foreign mind, or I continued the normal bodily functions.

At certain points, I would be so deeply
engrossed in my thoughts I would stop breathing. It'd taken me the
twenty eight hours required to get here to get them working together,
as if they were stubborn children after a fight.

Now, as I listened to my even, steady
breathing, I rocked forward to take my weight off my hands. My right
fingers found the spot on the smooth, pale skin on my left wrist,
feeling the constant, rhythmic beat of my heart. If I focused on that
slight pressure, I could feel the gentle thrumming of my heart
through my whole being. My thoughts fell in time with this music.

When I looked to the stars again, I saw
them sparkling, winking, twinkling to that same beat. They were
smiling down to me, telling me to confess to them.

My guards went up. They wanted something
out of me. No, I wouldn't give it to them. Not even these beautiful,
honest stars. They could be lying to me to.

They looked sad, but continued smiling
their kind smiles down on me. But I knew the truth. Never trust
anyone but yourself. That was how I'd gotten here in the first place.

But, too, there were those wise stars,
murmuring and smiling down at me. "Carpe noctem, Caelyn,"
they whispered. "Seize the night."

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